Collateral Damage

Cradled in the clouds,

With pines and conifers holding it down,

Stately waterfalls in statuesque gait,

Thick forests 

Holding deep secrets;

It's a land which beckoned,

With famous schools

And a model hill station.

How we longed to see

That undulating, green golf course,

A picture of calm and peace,

Convents and concerts,

Choirs and bands,

A musical legacy, 

And tapping feet.

Visions of nights spent near the fireplace,

Little chalets in the hills,

Flower bedecked terraces

And rosy-checked girls in vibrant tartan checks.

What visions of Shillong held us in spell!

What tales enthralled us of that abode of the clouds!

But nothing remains holy.

And the sounds of violence 

Pierced those soft, puffy clouds. 

For long gunfire rent the cool air

And serenity knelt with bowed head.

But remote and far from the mainland, 

Meghalaya lies forgotten 

By the nation. 

Only Cherrapunji weeps,

Alone in its grief. 

The monsoon pours its pain 

Down the mountain slopes.

Its tears refuse to still.

The springs of pure water

Now swell angrily 

And furiously lash against the rocks.

The limestone caves,

Aeons old,

Threaten to crumble. 

The rescue workers have long left.

The crack team of divers have surfaced, 

Empty handed.

The caves that swallowed 

The poor miners

Have shut their memory out.

NDRF, Army, Navy, Air Force,

All returned now to their base.

Another set of miners

Lost their lives in vain.

The headlines have long hit the trash.

Rescue op is off.

Only the land weeps

And floods the banks with its misery.

Forgotten are the 15 youths 

Sacrificed to man's greed.

So what if it's just a few months now.

Institutional greed drives on the illegal mines.

State apathy pushes the poor underground. 

Rich deposits of minerals 

And collieries dig graves

For human rights. 

And deep in the mountains 

Truth lies buried

In the rat-hole mines.

The poor are dispensable. 

Tribal lives do not count. 

Spotlight off, the illegal mining resumes.

There's much to be unearthed,

And glorious gains to be made.

Hundreds of emaciated children pushed beneath. 

Stakes high.

576 million tonnes of coal reserves. 

Lessons are never learnt

And few changes ever made.

The remote state

Quickly slipped out 

Of public memory again.

Hapless people reduced to wait destiny's turn.

Only the monsoon rages,

Frets and fumes.

Fire streaks from the skies 

Where cumulus clouds wandered free once.

Cherrapunji weeps 

For its local lads

And nature warns,

It's a deadly

Game you've begun